Musings of a Couch
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Okay so this isn't just a The Mentalist story. It's a story about various couches in TV shows and books and what they think and feel about the characters of the show or book. That's a really crappy summary but what can you do? Anyway I put it under this category because that's the first story. Let me know what you think.
1. The Mentalist 1

Musings of a Couch

The Mentalist

I knew her. I knew her the moment she entered the showroom. Okay so I didn't know her name or her story or anything really but I knew she was the one I was waiting for. I knew she was mine…sort of. She wasn't going to buy me for herself. No…I was for someone else. But she was going to buy me.

I watched Reggie show her around the showroom. I watched her face as she frowned at all the others. She sat on a few. She bounced. Sometimes she even stretched out. But none of the others were what she was looking for. I was.

Finally Reggie led her to me. There was a softening in her features and she ran a hand over my back. Then she sank into my embrace and sighed happily at the comfort I offered. I knew she wanted me. She turned and stretched out. I was far too long for her short frame but she grinned and nodded to Reggie.

"Excellent, Agent Lisbon," Reggie exclaimed. "If you'll follow me we'll get the paperwork out of the way."

She hopped up and followed Reggie away. I ignored the jealous mutterings and discontent from the others and waited happily.

Soon I watched her walk out of the store and then the movers were carrying me away to my new home.

PJ/TL PJ/TL PJ/TL

I must have dozed off while they were transporting me. Yes, even couches need a nap now and then. Anyway…the next thing I knew they were carrying me into an elevator and then down some stairs and into a set of offices. It made no sense to me. I was not an office type couch. I was a living room couch. I was made for comfort.

Still…it had to be better than the showroom. At least here I was going to be used for my intended purpose. I hoped.

And then I saw her again. Agent Lisbon. She came from an office and I wondered if that small room was where she was going to put me. I didn't want to go there. I wanted to be around the people but…I was just a couch. She couldn't hear me. And she probably wouldn't listen if she could. Humans didn't.

But then she smiled. Oh, not a lot and more in her eyes than on her lips. But it was a happy smile. And she directed the movers to place me in a corner of the main room. It was close to the small kitchen and off the main flow of traffic but close to it. My back was to the rest of the room but that was okay. I was a couch. I had 360 vision.

"No," she shook her head a bit. "Tilt it just a bit to face the room. We don't want him completely cut off from the sounds of the room. He'd hate that."

"Nice couch," a red haired woman observed. "Why do we need a couch in the office again?"

A buff Oriental looking man came to stand at her shoulder and he stared at me before a tiny smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "So that Jane will actually get a bit of sleep," he told her easily.

The red head blinked and then stared at Lisbon then the man and back again. "Pardon?" She finally asked.

"Jane doesn't sleep," another man walked over and stood with the others. "Except here."

One red brow winged up as she turned her attention to him. "Pardon?" She said again. "What do you mean he doesn't sleep?"

The Oriental man shook his head slowly. "Could you sleep in the house where your wife and child were brutally murdered?" He asked her in a low voice. "I couldn't."

Her lips tightened and she turned her head away from them for a long moment. "Still…why…he only sleeps here?"

The other three nodded solemnly. "He doesn't sleep in motels when we're on a case, you can tell," the second man said. "He comes down with bags under his eyes and a wild look in his eyes."

"And he doesn't sleep at home," the Oriental man said. "That's just as obvious. The bags and the look and the fact that he dozes most of the mornings away with his head propped on his fist."

"It's the flow of people," Lisbon observed. "The noise soothes him. He's more relaxed here than I've ever seen him anywhere else. And I'm sick of him rubbing at his neck and forehead because he has a stiff neck and a headache from sleep deprivation."

The red head shrugged and the foursome walked away. I never heard them discussing me and Jane in that way again. In fact, I doubt they said anything to each other on the subject again. I learned that Jane would have been…wounded, offended, whatever to know that they had discussed him like that.

I finally met the man I'd been bought for the following day. They watched him covertly as he strode in and passed out the coffee's he'd brought. His eyes passed over me as he walked by on the way to the kitchen. He paused in his steps for only an instant and then continued on.

When he came back out of the kitchen he held a blue mug of tea in his hands. He gave the four agents a long look and then shrugged and sat down. He seemed reluctant to relax at first but my comfort overpowered him. His shoulders slowly slumped as he sipped the tea and then his rigid posture relaxed and he sank into my cushions.

It didn't take long for him to set the mug of tea down. He relaxed more and more until he slowly tilted to the side. His feet came up and soon he was sprawled out and completely relaxed into sleep.

"Knew it would work," Lisbon murmured as she gently removed his shoes and covered him with a throw.

"That was almost too easy," the red head, Van Pelt, nodded and took his mug to the kitchen.

"Only this time," the Oriental man, Cho, observed as he waved some other agents away from the area.

"He'll be faking it to eavesdrop on us soon enough," the last agent, Rigsby, nodded and closed the blinds.

Lisbon shrugged and headed for her office. "At least he'll sleep now," she told them. "Back to work."

They all nodded and silently went to their desks. Occasionally one of them would glance over and a small smile would cross their lips. Lisbon made trips into the kitchen nearly twice as often as she had the day before. Eventually Jane stirred and sat up.

"It's a good couch," he said grudgingly and accepted the mug of tea from Van Pelt. "I like it."

"Good," Lisbon nodded from the doorway to her office. "We have a case," she held up a file. "We're off to San Francisco. Missing person."

"Fun," Jane commented and sprang to his feet. "Let's go."


	2. Honey 'Verse 1

Sherlock

Honey 'Verse

He is high again. I wonder what he used this time. He's never been one for heroine really, though he'll use that if it's all he can get. He prefers cocaine. I dislike the cocaine. The smoke from the rocks he melts, or whatever it is he does with that drug, sinks into my fabric and there are times I can barely stand the smell of myself.

He's always high anymore. I can barely remember the last time he wasn't. I miss the other one. The one with the calm voice and gentle hands. The one that made this one laugh happily and smile. Now, when he isn't high he's cranky and miserable. I hate the other for not being here. He should never have left us alone here.

This one is not himself without the other. He is not whole and I think that is why he gets high. He misses the other more than I do. And if the words he spits out like curses late at night are true then he hates the other much more than I ever could. Or he simply loves him so much he is dying without the other here.

I wonder sometimes if they will ever get the smell of the drugs he uses out of my fabric. I suppose it doesn't matter really. Not if the other doesn't come back. If he never comes back then this one will die in my arms and be happy to go. And then the fat one will toss me out instead of trying to clean me. I think, should that happen, I will be grateful. I can remember no other home than with the Genius and his Doctor.

My cushions are becoming wet again as he lays sprawled across them on his stomach. He will never let anyone else see this side of him. Not even his beloved Doctor. Only I am graced with it.

Come on Sherlock, I want to tell him. Do stop carrying on so. John will come back. But I can't tell him that because…well, first I don't have the vocal chords to do so and second because he is not Sherlock.

Oh, the Genius is still here, don't worry about that. Just as I am sure the Doctor is out there somewhere. But there is no Sherlock without John and there is no John without Sherlock. They are the same. One soul in two bodies. Do you understand now?

I may be nothing but a couch but even I can see that. They were always destined to be one. And it's only the Doctor's stupid pride that is preventing that from being fulfilled right now. Pride is such a stupid human emotion. It's always messing everything up.

The Genius has finally fallen into a fitful, nightmare filled sleep. It won't last for long. It never does. The drugs speed his blood and make it impossible for slumber to keep hold of him for long. They also muddle his thinking though I think myself and the fat one are the only ones that can tell. The Genius is still far smarter and faster than the average human. But for how much longer? How long before the drugs damage him permanently? He is all right for now though.

But he'd be better still if the Doctor would just come back and fix him! For he is broken right now. The drugs hide how broken from no one but himself and I doubt that is even true. The Genius is good at deluding nearly everyone, even himself. Only the Doctor and the fat one can see through the masks. Though the drugs have made the masks transparent to nearly everyone now. They can all see the loneliness and the bitter knowledge of sorrow.

I pray every moment to the Gods of the Showroom that the Doctor will come back soon. I'm not sure how many more tears my cushions can absorb. And I'm not positive that my back can stand up to the Genius flopping against it so hard for very much longer. And the darkness in this flat is making my stuffing musty. I miss the sunlight. I miss lots of things that used to be and aren't anymore. Laughter, conversation, sunlight, the telly on low, the rustle of pages turning, the giddy feeling when they would fall upon each other and then on me in passion. And…

Don't tell anyone but I miss the snuggle sessions most of all. I'll admit that I'm a bit of a voyeur, but then all good furniture is, unlike other couches however, I enjoy the cuddling more. Oh, I don't protest their activities like some do with squeaking springs and groaning wood, nor do I allow my cushions to bunch up and become uncomfortable to discourage said activities. But in the afterwards when they lay sprawled out, entangled around each other I make sure to let my cushions become that much softer and I make sure to let the blanket always thrown over my back slide down enough to catch their attention. I don't want them to become uncomfortable or chilled and leave me to seek out Bed. I like the warmth and contentment they radiate in the afterwards.

I told you he wouldn't sleep for long. And now he's leaving. I always worry that when he leaves this time he won't come back. He always does of course but he no longer lets me know where he's been or what he's been doing. When the Doctor was around the flat was full of words. Now it is empty and silent even when the Genius is here. He doesn't even talk to Skull anymore. We all miss the words that used to seem to tumble without ceasing from his lips. The Genius has never been called a silent man…even when he is in one of his moods and won't talk he still used to be so very noisy.

Sometimes the fat one and the Woman Without a Name come around or sometimes it's the Detective. Then the flat has words again. Loud and angry at times or soft and pleading but at least they are words and I get a few precious drops of knowledge of the world outside.

That is actually happening more and more as the time passes and the Doctor hasn't returned. I think they are worried about the Genius. I wish I could tell them everything. Maybe if I could, they would in turn inform the Doctor and he would come home. But alas, I am only a couch and I cannot tell them of the sleepless nights, the violent fits of temper or the just as violent sobbing my Genius has when no one is around to see.

All I can do is offer what comfort I can and wait for the Doctor to return to us. He will, someday, I know he will. He has to or all is lost. There is no Sherlock without John and there is no John without Sherlock.

He is back. And he is high…again. I miss Sherlock. I miss John. I miss SherlocknJohn.


	3. Grey's Anatomy 1

Grey's Anatomy

Suturing a Heart

I knew the very first moment that he set her upon my cushions to change her diaper that she would be mine in a way that they could never be. She was going to be my friend. She was my Important Person. She would be my last owner. She would be my last human. She was Mine.

She took her first steps using my cushions for balance. She was growing so fast. She was far too smart. She had learned quickly that the darkness beneath me was a good place to hide when they fought. I protected her there. She couldn't hear what they yelled if she hid in the dark there. I would use her small movements to make her favorite blanket and bear fall to the floor so they could hide with her and give her comfort. She didn't know they fought over her. They didn't know she knew they were fighting and I would do everything I could to keep it that way.

I couldn't protect her from everything though. The Father left and the Mother grew even more distant. And then they came. They carried the Mother away on a stretcher and I saw Her terrified eyes and heartbroken expression as they took her away too.

The Mother came back without her. Only long enough to pack up their things…some of them anyway. She left Blanket and Bear and me. She covered me with a sheet and House was far too silent. I didn't like it. There were ghosts of memories everywhere. I missed Her. I hoped she would come back.

Years passed. Dust grew thick on every surface. I could feel it weighing down the sheet on top of me. I still missed Her. I would doze for long stretches of time. It isn't very fun being a couch with no one to appreciate my soft embrace. I hoped she would come back to me soon.

I woke from one of my long sleeps to the sound of her uncontrollable sneezing. She sneezed for a long time. Long enough for tears to come to her eyes. But she was back. She was home and she was older. Sadder and older but home all the same.

She was talking to someone on the phone in her hand and I settled myself to wait. I didn't have to wait for very long before she finally dropped heavily onto my cushions and stretched her legs across them. She'd looked so sad and tense but she sank into my comfort as she continued to talk and giggle to the person on the other end of the line. I could feel the spark there. It was Him. Her other half. Did she know? Why wasn't He with her?

She finally stopped talking and set the phone on Table. She relaxed even more and curled up on my cushions. "I remember this," she murmured and I softened even more. I had missed her and she seemed to have missed me.

Soon there were other people in House with She and I. I wasn't sure I liked them very much. The blond was always nagging at Her to get a new couch as she claimed I was uncomfortable. She wouldn't listen though. I knew her secrets and I held some of the only good memories she had of this place. The timid man was far too timid for him to be the Him on the phone. He wouldn't last a day in a relationship with Her. He was too uncertain and far too innocent.

The dark haired man came. I didn't like him. His secrets were going to cause Her pain and I had tried for so long to protect her from pain that I wasn't about to stop now. Besides he wasn't Him either. She didn't light up like she did when she talked to Him. The dark haired one agreed with the blond that She should chuck me out and get a replacement. She ignored them both. The dark haired one was going to hurt Her and I wished she could hear the advice I gave her when she curled up on my cushions when she couldn't sleep. She would call Him on those nights and then stay with me until the sun sent tendrils of light streaking across the room. I liked those nights. When it was just the three of us. Me and Her and His voice.

I was right. The dark haired one's secrets hurt Her. The nights she spent seeking my comfort increased and her tears soaked into my cushions. Even her calls to Him didn't have the same effect they had before. He should come. She needed both of us to make her better. To fix what the dark haired one had broken.

He brought her home. Her face streaked with tears and her eyes heavy lidded with exhaustion. He gave me a glance and then carried her up the stairs to Bed. I was only slightly disappointed. He was here now. Between the two of us we would fix Her.

I spent the night in an agony of nervousness. Was He going to like me? Would He push Her to toss me out for a newer, softer model? He was the only one who could change Her mind about me. Did He know His power? What was I going to do if He decided He wanted some other couch?

I needn't have worried. They came down after the blond and the timid one had left the next morning. She made coffee while He cooked something for them to eat and then they nearly collapsed into my embrace. "Nice couch," He said quietly as She finished off Her breakfast, set the plate on Table and then curled up on my cushions with Her head in His lap. She sighed happily and pulled New Blanket off my back and drifted off in the safety of our comfort.

They haven't been around as much. The blond has taken over the sleeplessness that used to plague Her. But they still spend time with me when they are here. They have another House. One without the memories or the roommates. I envy them and I miss them. Have they forgotten me?

They haven't. The strong one that moved in when the timid one moved out is helping Him to lift me into a truck. I liked the strong one. I only hoped they weren't taking me to be thrown away. I doubted that they were. He would never do that to Her. I was the Keeper of their secrets. The drive wasn't very long and then they were carrying me up some stairs and into the New House. They shifted me several times before they were finally satisfied and then they left to get Her in Hawaii.

I have come full circle. He lays New Her on my cushions to change her diaper and I know. I know that I will love this New Her as much as I love Her. I know that I will not have to help New Her hide when her parents fight. I know that she may soak my cushions with her tears but Her and Him will be there to lend help to my comforting. I know that She will never toss me out. Not until I am broken beyond all repair and saving and have gone on to the Showroom in Sky where all the souls of good couches go until their humans join them there. Years ago I knew that She was Mine and now I know that They are Mine and I am Theirs.


	4. Music of the Soul 1

**Music of the Soul**

"'S nice," she sighed as she sank more firmly into my cushions. She was new. I couldn't remember her form ever making use of me before. She couldn't have been among my crew for very long. Maybe Cap'n Mal had taken passengers again.

It didn't happen very often. Passengers meant hiding certain activities and that was dangerous. And difficult. The Riddick and the Jayne always complained. One with murder in his heart and the other too loudly to hear anything else.

"It is," the rumbly voice that said those words was familiar. The Riddick. Anger and sorrow to embedded in his soul to allow my comfort to soothe. Still I did like the growly man with the murder in his heart. And I would continue to try and soothe the sorrow away.

Then he folded himself down where her feet were. And he wasn't sad anymore. Oh, the Riddick was still angry. It was as though it was part of his genetic make up to be angry but the sorrow was absent. Why?

"The girl is here," the female I didn't know said in an absent tone. Had I eyes I might have blinked. Was she speaking to me or was it simply some human randomness? The female giggled. "She isn't being random. She is explaining."

The Riddick hummed lowly, seemingly unconcerned with her apparently random chatter and pulled her feet onto his lap. "Need shoes, my own," he rumbled. He relaxed like he never had back into my cushions and rubbed at her feet with one big hand.

The female giggled again. "She has clompy boots," she told him. "But she likes to feel the metal beneath her toes. It sings. I like the song. Can't hear it if my feet can't touch it."

The Riddick hummed again. "Metal doesn't sing, mei mei," another new voice said in a snarling tone. Or what he must have thought was snarling. I'd heard the Riddick and the Jayne and the Cap'n and the First Mate and even the smiley EngineerKaylee do better.

The female laughed out loud. Could she actually hear me? "She hears everything. Metal sings, brother boob. Of home and safety and adventures. She sings to the girl. She sings to the Sunshine. You simply don't hear it."

"Mei mei," the Bother Boob started but she cut him off with her laughter.

"Bother Boob!" She giggled.

"Mei mei," he tried again.

"She has a name, Bother Boob, might try usin' it," the Jayne said from across the room.

I knew I liked the Jayne.

"So does she," the girl said. "Growly. Fun." I was fairly sure I was going to like this girl more than I liked all the others. "Good. She likes you the best too. More than any other nonbreathing entity. But not more than her Riddick. But he breathes so that doesn't count."

"Who are you talking too, River?" the Bother Boob asked in an aggrieved tone.

"Secret," the girl, the River girl, said.

"Mei mei," now it was said with sadness. "The voices you hear in your head are not real. They're—"

"Are," the River girl said stubbornly. "But she isn't speaking to them. Boring today."

The Riddick suddenly tensed and even the squeak, squeak of the Jayne cleaning his guns fell away. "You bored, Witch Queen?"

Her head moved along my cushions as though she was tilting it in thought. "No," she finally said. "The River girl is lazy. She will lay here and commune with the Mother and the others until the Sunshine comes to play with her." She hummed a happy little sound. "The Sunshine has jacks. The River girl has never played jacks before."

The feeling of tension in the room seemed to ease. "All right," the Riddick rumbled and leaned his head back. "We'll be lazy awhile then."

I made my cushions more comfortable. I didn't mind them using me to be lazy. It's what I was around for.


End file.
